The Child's Opera
by DrellNCo
Summary: The aristocratic Adelyn DuBois insists that she must visit the opera one last time before entering her parental-arranged marriage. Erik finds himself fascinated with her unabashed passion for life, and she finds herself tangled in his music. What happens
1. The Visitors

"Erik is dead."  
  
He laughed and tossed the Epoque aside, his normally deadened eyes flickering with what looked like a spark of life.  
  
"Goodness, Daroga, sometimes you really do amuse me too much," he said, two eerily yellow orbs traveling beyond the paper to a wrinkled, Persian man on a couch nearby.  
  
Nadir scowled over at Erik, his lips pausing at the rim of a small cup in his hand. "Amuse you? How so?"  
  
"To think," said Erik, his eyes again twinkling with laughter, "To think that you would not at least wait until I was properly dead to publish such an advertisement." His eyes, which had been so alive with such flame only seconds before, seemed to suddenly extinguish as a dark thought crossed his mind. "Though it will not be too inaccurate in time, I am afraid. Christine..." he added in a sad murmur, his distorted lips puckering into a frown.  
  
"They will be secure now," Nadir replied confidently. "While they think you dead, they will no longer fear for their own well-being. They will be happy together."  
  
"Oh, don't I know it, Daroga!" moaned Erik, his skeletally thin fingers clutching at the white mask that covered his face. "Don't I know it! Oh, if only! Could she not be happy with me as well? Could I not have made her happy? Oh, this wretched face! Oh, Christine!"  
  
"Do not speak of it anymore, Erik," said the Persian sternly, surveying the so-called "Phantom of the Opera" over his glasses. "It is over."  
  
"Yes, Daroga, it is over. Soon, it will be finished. I must say that I gladly welcome Death, though he has taken all too long in knocking upon my door." And without warning, Erik whirled his black cape around his shoulders and disappeared into the shadows of the room beyond.  
  
The Persian gave a start. He had no way of getting back above ground except by way of the small boat left by the shore of the underground lake. Though he had no desire to linger in Erik's tomb-like home, he could not help but feel that leaving Erik without any escape to the upper floors would prove irritable to the Phantom's fatalistic temper. Nervously, he dropped the teacup in his hands with a clunk against the table and stood, gazing out into the shadows beyond.  
  
"Erik?" he called anxiously. "Erik, don't play games with me, I am not at all in the mood. Erik?"  
  
But there was no reply.  
  
Deciding that the Opera Ghost surely had other means of escape from his sombre dwelling, the Persian eased himself into the small boat and rowed back to shore, a sense of unease still prevalent in his heart.  
  
* * *  
  
Erik gently hoisted himself through a trapdoor leading to the stage. Normally he would not take the risk of flagrant exposure, but he was quite sure that the cast had broken for lunch and would not return for at least another fifteen minutes. However, he did not expect to see one of the opera house's manager, M. Debienne, standing in the center aisle a well-dressed couple. For the first time since Christine's flight, Erik felt a stirring of actual interest in the outside world. Who were they, and why had they tread their jeweled feet into his theater?   
  
"Lovely," murmured the man. He had long, light brown hair tucked into a neat ponytail and a tan, handsome face. Erik shriveled behind the curtain in jealously. Only if had been so blessed! "Simply divine."  
  
"Your fiancée will be comforted to know that we have a separate room arranged for her," M. Debienne reassured the couple, his salt-and-peppered eyebrows twitching slightly at the bottom of his creased forehead.   
  
"Yes, good, good," murmured the ponytailed man, stroking his chin as if he expected a beard to appear there. "After all, we mustn't let my darling's reputation be tarnished." He was a slightly effeminate man, the intonation of his voice entirely too gentle and greasy to be a truly upright man. Almost immediately after he had uttered the word "darling", Erik felt an inhuman shudder course through his body. All at once he hated the man. He hated him for being handsome, but mostly, he hated him for a reason he could not describe.   
  
"Darling?"  
  
Again Erik shivered at the word, but his discomfort soon melted into amusement. Who was the man talking to? The walls? Erik saw so sign of any female companionship, and his longhaired intruder seemed to notice it as well.  
  
"Confound it! That girl's always running off," growled the man, his gentle manner immediately being stripped away in his plight. "I swear, I thought by giving into this ridiculous whim might have tamed her completely uncivilized love for the theater, but it seems to only have made her more birdlike--"  
  
"I assure you she is safe," said M. Debienne nervously. "There are many ladies in the chorus who will surely see to it that she is safe, however I must warn you--"  
  
"Dear God, has she gone on the stage?" cried the man, his velvet cloak quivering with rage as he stalked towards the stage steps.  
  
Erik quickly pulled himself further into the curtains, with only his yellowish eyes revealed. He would take flight if the man came any closer, but at the moment, he felt secure. That is, until he felt an odd rustling from behind him. In spite of himself, he inhaled sharply. He did not enjoy being this close to any human other than Daroga, and he dearly wished he were back beneath the stage. A little longer and he would have to reveal himself to the entire cast, making the ladies scream in fright and the men roar in murderous protest. He silently began to curse the bejeweled man that had dared befoul first, his theater, and now his stage.   
  
However, it was not the man who rustled in the folds of the curtain behind him. It was a lady, dressed from shoulder to toe in a dark, modestly red dress, obviously of fine quality. Her hair was blonde and unnaturally long, falling in waves that might by some standards be considered disheveled. At the moment, though, she did not seem to care very much for her appearance. Her eyes were wide with an excitement and shone with an odd color-- A murky ocean blue rimming an odd yellow inside. From far away, one could call her eyes green. But the Phantom was close enough to see that her eyes were almost as yellow as his, had the outer blue not neutralized this odd color. A wide smile spread across her face, which was very round and very rosy, and she seemed entirely too excited to breathe. Overall, Erik had to admit that she was exquisitely beautiful, though she had the unfortunate plight of carrying a little bit of extra weight around her hips. That is what riches will do, he thought, staring at her in fascination. He had not been this close to a woman since Christine had left him, and the rich woman's perfume had an odd way of heightening his senses.  
  
The woman suddenly gasped loudly, and for a moment, Erik thought he had been discovered. It was not him that the woman had discovered, though; it was the scenery.  
  
"Why, how lovely! How incredibly beautiful!" she cried, her voice quavering with excitement as she stretched her hands upwards towards the painted walls. "Is it finished yet?"  
  
"My dear!" The longhaired man had reappeared. "This is most improper. Come, let the good M'sieur show you to your room. It is a mere dressing room, I am afraid, but it will have to do."  
  
She seemed not to notice him, but kept staring at the scenery with glazed eyes. "I had always wished to sing against the backdrop of one of these beautiful things."  
  
"Adelyn!" exclaimed the longhaired fool. "I will not have you ever saying such things, ever again!" He grabbed her arm roughly. "Are you listening to me? Are you?"  
  
"Turn me loose!" she cried, squirming in a most unladylike fashion.  
  
"I hope it does," he hissed peevishly, jerking her away from her beloved scenery. "For God's sake, I give in to every one of your childish tantrums, I take you to the Paris Opera House, at great time and expense, and all I ask is that you act like a lady-- A lady worthy of being my wife! And yet there you stand, talking like a dithering fool about how you want to be some lowdown--"  
  
"You will not speak like that!" snapped Adelyn fierily. "Even the chorus girls have three times the talent of you! What did you ever do to earn a place for yourself, other than be born under an immorally wealthy man?"  
  
Erik no longer had a clear view of the pair, but after hearing such a statement from Adelyn, he had no doubt that the man would strike her. However, no cry came from the lady. The next he saw them, they were making their way back down the theater aisle. The man looked cheerful, but Adelyn was scowling.   
  
Perhaps she is only pretending, thought Erik interestedly. Then he scowled himself. Or, perhaps she enjoys being upon the arm of a rich, handsome man. Yes, I am sure that is it.   
  
Without a backward glance, Erik flew down the closest trapdoor and into the abyss below. 


	2. The Hidden Soprano

Erik felt no further attraction to the couple and went about his own business for the next few days. In fact, it was not until the next week that he remembered the couple at all. Or, at least, he remembered the young woman named Adelyn.   
  
He had been slipping in and out of his usual haunts when he suddenly stumbled upon the lady-most improperly, in fact. She was staring at herself in the mirror that was part of one of the ladies' dressing rooms-the dressing room that now served as a makeshift hotel room for the young woman. He growled lowly in severe annoyance. It was not that he minded having a particularly lovely young woman in one of his rooms, but did she have to interfere with his movement? Not to mention she was acting quite strangely. She was moving her mouth in odd directions and breathing heavily, all the while watching herself in the mirror intently.  
  
It took Erik only several seconds to realize what she was doing. Why, she was pretending to sing! He chuckled to himself and shook his head. The longhaired man was engaged to a lady, but this lady was an opera singer at heart! However, whether or not she sang was no matter to the Opera Ghost. He doubted that anyone who had lead that soft of a life could amount to any talent.   
  
"Miss Adelyn!"  
  
Erik gave a start. So did Adelyn. At the door was one of the opera's chorus brats, Meg Giry. Her eyes were watching Adelyn in fervent admiration.   
  
"Will you come watch us rehearse? We will only be a few minutes," she added quickly, as if too long of an engagement might be a bore to the lady.  
  
"Of course!" Adelyn smiled radiantly. "I'll come right this minute."  
  
"Oh but... Miss... Don't you think you ought to make yourself a bit more... decent?" Meg blushed deeply.  
  
"Oh." Adelyn looked down at her robe absentmindedly. "Does it matter, really? It's only going to be the lady ballet dancers, isn't it?"  
  
"But miss, if your fiancé were to visit... My mother said to make sure that I don't make any trouble, and I think he might..."  
  
"Oh, all right," grumbled Adelyn, pulling at the ties of her robe. "What a bother."  
  
Meg blushed again. "We're in the third corridor, just so you know. The stage is being used for something or other."  
  
"I will only be a few minutes. Thank you for coming for me," Adelyn said with warm sincerity.  
  
Erik chuckled again, delighted with Adelyn's childlike selfishness. She was very unlike many of the ladies in the opera company. Most of them were quiet, demure things, flitting about like small birds. That, of course, excluded the big-name stars, who were as pigheaded as they were talented. Though, lately, not much talent had passed through the company. With the loss of both Carlotta and Christine Daae, the company was in desperate need of new lifeblood.  
  
Once Adelyn had pulled on some moderately decent clothes, she threw open the door and paced quickly down the hall. Erik followed close behind her like a shadow, curious not only to see her next actions but also to observe the progress of the dancers. Again, Erik smiled at Adelyn's childish antics as she paused to make faces in the hallway mirrors, and occasionally, when she thought no one was watching, to twirl around in a circle and observe the effect on her skirts. Perhaps he had been mistaken about her womanhood. The girl could not possibly be out of her teens-at least not in heart.   
  
"Miss DuBois!" Little Meg Giry rushed forward to meet her as she came upon the third corridor. "Everyone, this is Miss DuBois."  
  
"Charmed," said Miss DuBois, grinning impishly.  
  
The lady dancers shifted uncomfortably on their feet. It wasn't so much that they hated Adelyn as much as they resented her. For someone to stumble upon a man of such wealth meant that they certainly must be a real vixen. They all acted as politely as they were bred to be, however, and before long, began to dance under the watchful eye of Madame Giry, Meg's mother.  
  
The rehearsal itself didn't last very long. Madame Giry declared the group hopeless and suggested that they go home and get some sleep, lest they disgrace the ballet any further. None of them were too keen to rush home, however-They were interested in Miss DuBois.  
  
"Why have you come to stay with us?"  
  
"Have you ever been to opera before?"  
  
"How rich is your fiancé?"  
  
"Is your father rich?"  
  
"Have you yourself ever sung?"  
  
Adelyn looked around bewilderedly at the inquisitive young girls, not answering any of the questions until the last-"Have you ever sung?" With that question in the air, she beamed delightedly and nodded.  
  
"I sang very often as a child, and still do, if no one is around to hear me," she gushed excitedly, her eyes burning like a blue flame. "My grandmother had a voice like an angel, and she taught me to sing a bit before she died."  
  
"Oh, sing, Miss Adelyn! Won't you?" begged little Meg Giry.  
  
"Oh, but I mustn't!" exclaimed Adelyn, but one could tell that in a few moments time, her voice would be ringing through the hall. "You would only laugh at me. I am a poor student of my grandmother."  
  
"Come now, just give it a try," urged Meg, looking excited.  
  
"Very well then," sighed Adelyn, pretending to look resigned.   
  
"Se quel guerriero io fossi!  
  
Se il mio sogno si avverasse!...  
  
Un esercito di prodi da me guidato...  
  
E la vittoria  
  
E il plauso di Menfi tutta!  
  
E a te, mia dolce Aida,  
  
Tornar di lauri cinto...  
  
Dirti, per te ho pugnato,  
  
E per te ho vinto!  
  
"Celeste Aida, forma divina,  
  
Mistico serto di luce fior,  
  
Del mio pensiero tu sei regina,  
  
Tu di mia vita sei lo splendor.  
  
Il tuo bel cielo vorrei ridarti,  
  
Le dolci brezze del patrio suol,  
  
Un regal serto sul crin posarti,  
  
Ergerti un trono vicino al sol.  
  
"Celeste Aida, forma divina,  
  
Mistico raggio di luce fior,  
  
Del mio pensiero tu sei regina,  
  
Tu di mia vita sei lo splendor.  
  
Il tuo bel cielo vorrei ridarti,  
  
Le dolci brezze del patrio suol,  
  
Un regal serto sul crin posarti,  
  
Ergerti un trono vicino al sol."  
  
There was a stunned silence around the hall. Even Erik was shocked. Who had expected that this silly-looking fiancée of a rich man could sing so beautifully? Her voice was nothing like Christine Daae's, Erik admitted. Christine Daae's voice had been light and angelic, like a bell. How sweet her voice had been, thought Erik, recalling her sadly. However, this woman's voice was rich and dark, and it sounded mature beyond her years. It was shockingly thick and almost uncontrollably strong; yet, it had a resonant ring to it that made it pleasant to the ear.   
  
"Why... Miss... You can sing better than any I've heard here!" gasped Meg Giry, curtsying in appreciation.  
  
"Please. That song doesn't suit me particularly well. But I do enjoy singing it." Adelyn, though feigning modesty, was obviously pleased with the attention.   
  
Her eyes froze on Meg Giry, but suddenly, her smile faded.  
  
"What is it, Miss? Are you all right?"   
  
"I think I am going mad!" gasped Adelyn, pressing her hand to her forehead. "I... I am seeing a dark shape in the form of a man!"  
  
It took Erik only a few moments to realize that she could see him. He quickly ducked behind the nearest pillar and disappeared.   
  
"Oh, don't take any notice of that, Miss," laughed Meg Giry, relaxing. "That's only the Opera Ghost!"  
  
"The Opera Ghost!" Adelyn's eyes widened. "I thought that was merely a rumour."  
  
"Oh no, Miss, it's true all right!" Meg stepped forward in excitement. "He kidnapped one of our sopranos, Christine Daae, once, and he's done even worse than that! He hasn't been around for a few months, but I suppose he's back now." She shuddered involuntarily. "I do fear him so."  
  
"Fear him!" Adelyn smiled mischievously. "I would rather like to meet him!"  
  
"Meet him!" cried the girls in disbelief.  
  
"Yes," she replied enthusiastically. "I've never really met a ghost."  
  
Despite the protests of the other girls, Adelyn firmly stood by the belief that meeting a ghost would be very exciting. They normally would have stayed and told her every excruciating detail of the Opera Ghost's existence, but it was growing late and the young girls were tired. Adelyn took notice of this and, with a small nod and a smile, picked up her skirts and started back towards her room. She had tried as hard as she could to contain her excitement, but once she had moved out of earshot of the girls, she laughed vivaciously. A ghost! Now that would be interesting. As much as she loved the opera house, besides rehearsal, everything had been very boring. She longed to explore the lower parts of the building, or at least go beneath the stage, but her fiancé, Drew, had strictly forbidden it. Once back in her room, Adelyn tried summoning the ghost, but to no avail.  
  
"Opera Ghost, I know you must be there! You were watching me sing, you surreptitious creature! Come, add a bit of excitement into my life," she coaxed, her eyes darting from the ceiling to the floor and back.  
  
But no answer came.  
  
"I must be mad, talking to the walls," she mumbled disappointedly, climbing into bed. "There really is no one to hear."  
  
But someone had heard. And he was intrigued.   
  
* * * 


	3. The Meeting

"Darling?"  
  
Adelyn looked up borededly from her pillow. Though it was nearly noon, she was still in bed reading. At her door was Drew, her fiancé.   
  
"My dear! Are you not up yet? This is ridiculous!" he exclaimed, looking horrified. "Come, up, you sloth."  
  
"I'm tired," she whined, resisting his urges to get her out of bed. "I was up to near two o'clock."  
  
"Doing what, precisely?" His eyes flashed with fury. "I recall that I dropped you off at your room at several minutes after seven."  
  
"I wanted to finish this before I got to sleep," she replied, holding up the thick book she had been engaged in. "But it's so terribly long, and I…"  
  
"Get up. I can't understand why you not only insist on staying in the Paris Opera House, but reading-God knows what-- as well. There is only so much disgrace a man can take, Adelyn DuBois!" He grabbed her roughly by the arm and forced her out of bed.  
  
"I'm not decent!" she cried, stunned by his coarse behavior. She threw her arms across her chest, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. As uninhibited as she was, she still had some notion of propriety.   
  
"I don't care. Get dressed and let's go."  
  
"To where?"  
  
"Don't ask questions, damn you; just do what I say!" He scowled darkly at her, then slammed the door behind him with a bang.  
  
"Picky picky," she muttered irritably, throwing open her trunk and pulling at her clothes. As she did so, she began to hum a song from the latest opera, Don Giovanni. Once she had finished the first aria, she ceased her singing and continued piling through her clothes.  
  
"Do continue, sweet child," Erik murmured through the wall.   
  
Adelyn straightened upwards from her trunk with a start. Unless she was going mad, she had certainly heard a voice. Not just any voice, either. It was a voice which was smooth as silk and incredibly entrancing. And if she was not mistaken, it had come from the wall behind her dresser. Unless... Unless she were hearing things? But no, because it came again.  
  
"Come now, do not be shy. The master of this opera house does enjoy hearing you sing," he said silkily.  
  
"Who are you?" cried Adelyn hotly, her heart pounding in mixed fear and excitement. "Who is there?"  
  
There was a short silence as Erik thought. "It is the Opera Ghost."  
  
"Oh!" sighed Adelyn. "It really is true! There really is a master musician in the catacombs of the opera house!"  
  
"What have you heard?" asked Erik quickly. He had not foreseen this knowledge of his existence.  
  
"I know that there is a man with endless talents who lives beneath the opera house. You once kidnapped one of the sopranos!" Adelyn paused, staring at the wall dreamily. "Who are you?"  
  
"Have I not already told you?"  
  
"But truly, are you ghost or man?" Adelyn crept closer to the source of the voice, until eventually, she climbed atop her dresser and leaned her head against the wall. Then, without warning, she said huskily, "Oh, how your voice does warm my heart!"  
  
"You are lonely, then," said the Opera Ghost softly.  
  
"Beyond everything," she whispered, her soft, curved lips almost touching the wall. "I have no one to talk to."  
  
"Have you not a mother?"   
  
"Oh, yes, I do, but what do mothers know? Just a little more than fathers, I daresay."  
  
"That is someone, is it not?"  
  
"I suppose. But I find my father insufferable, and my mother not much better."  
  
"That is quite unkind," replied Erik, his voice gently reproving.  
  
"Not if you were to know them," giggled Adelyn. Her laughter hung in the air like angel's song. "They are fat as pigs and about as stupid as them!"  
  
"You should not say such things," said the Opera Ghost shortly.   
  
"I apologize," said Adelyn, but she did not sound sorry at all. There was a small silence, and then she added, "Do you not train voices?"  
  
"Only voices which strike me," Erik replied.  
  
"And does mine strike you?" she asked flirtatiously.  
  
There was another short silence before Erik murmured, "It does."  
  
A shudder ran through Adelyn's body. Her heart, though no longer as quick as a bird's, was still pounding in her ears. She knew nothing of the man-- or ghost-- on the other side, only that she longed to see him and know him. Perhaps it was childish foolishness, but the unknown was more intriguing to her than anything-- or anyone-- that she could hold in her hands.   
  
"I want to see you," she cried suddenly, pressing her palms against the wall. "What is your name? Where are you from? Why do you hid in the cellars? Who did you kidnap? Will you teach me to sing? Will you--"  
  
"You have asked too much," said Erik softly. "Goodbye."  
  
"Wait!" shrieked Adelyn childishly. "Don't leave me!"  
  
But there was only silence from the other side of the wall. Realizing that she was once again alone, Adelyn burst into noisy tears. Only a few seconds after these tears had been shed, Drew burst in through the door, looking bewildered.  
  
"Adelyn, my darling, my love! What is this? What grieves you so?" he exclaimed, his arms outstretched. "Come, rest your sweet head against my shoulder and tell me what is the matter."  
  
Now, while Adelyn acted appallingly childish and was terribly spoiled, she had a sharp brain and almost improperly excellent wit for a woman. She also felt no shame when it came to deceit, and lying was barely below her. Upon seeing Drew, she knew that she would have to come up with a sufficient story to ward off his worries. If he were to know about the visit of the Opera Ghost, he would insist they leave right away. So, in accordance with her character, she dramatically threw herself into his arms and sobbed.  
  
"Oh Drew, you're so hateful! I love you so, but you're so hateful towards me! Hurting me with your strength and calling me names and looking upon me indecently, when I am barely clothed--" Adelyn broke into a fresh onslaught of tears and buried her wet face into his velvet jacket.  
  
"Darling, darling! I never meant offense. My poor dear, you are distressed! I am ever so sorry for causing you this grief," moaned Drew, horror-struck at what he had done. While he was incredibly rich and a smart businessman, he had little cunning when it came to women, and the only way he knew how to treat Adelyn was to indulge in her. "Please, dry your lovely cheeks, and cry no longer. I'll do anything if you'd only stop," he pleaded, holding her tight to his chest.  
  
"Well perhaps..." Adelyn sniffled, staring up at Drew contemplatingly. "Perhaps... Drew, dear, would you do something for me to make me terribly happy?"  
  
"Anything for you, my darling," swore Drew passionately.  
  
"Let us stay another week or so than we had planned?" Adelyn smiled cutely, dimples forming in her round cheeks. "I really love it here, but I've hardly had a chance to properly look around-- Can we not stay?"  
  
Drew was even more stunned than when he had first seen Adelyn cry. Stay at the Opera House longer than necessary? This was hardly what he'd had in mind. After all, they were to be married in only another month or so, and he could not risk any rumors that any indecency existed between them. It was not customary for a man to take his fiancé on such a trip, but Adelyn had insisted that before they married that she visit the opera house. After she was a married woman, she said, she would forget opera and never sing again. But she must see the opera house once more, she had said.  
  
And now, she wanted to stay even longer. Adelyn's parents would grow suspicious. True, they had brought several maids to wait upon Lady Adelyn, and those could be considered chaperones, but still, an unmarried woman and man together-It was almost unheard of. But how could he refuse?  
  
"Of course we can, darling," he finally managed to say. "I shall make the necessary arrangements."  
  
* * *  
  
Back in his lair, Erik was sitting at his piano, playing a soft lullaby. Normally, the lullaby would slide out of his fingers without any effort, but he was distracted tonight. After every four measures or so, he found that he would accidentally trip on an unwritten sharp or even forget one. After his fifth mistake, he sighed irritably and pushed himself backwards from the piano, his yellow eyes flashing with agitation.  
  
It was not so much that she was so entrancing as he was lonely. It was more of a matter of that he would like anyone to look upon him with the same fascination Christine once had. And perhaps, perhaps that is why she looks upon me so, thought Erik gloomily. After all, the child did not yet know the extent of his hideousness. Nor did she know that he was a murderer, a thief, and among other things, a monster.  
  
He gently removed his mask unthinkingly, and stared at it in his hand. Without this, she would never think he was the mystical, beautiful voice behind the wall. For a moment, he entertained the thought that she would be kind enough to look beyond his face and see the man within. But no. He had seen enough evidence to prove that she was a mere child, and children were always the hardest to contend with. They only enjoyed what they could feast their eyes on-which would, of course, explain her engagement with Drew. The aristocratic fool had probably showered her with sweet, meaningless compliments, not to mention gifts and jewels beyond all reason. Which brought up another point-Perhaps she really did love the fool. She had never said anything to the contrary.  
  
I must keep my distance, he decided. Talking to her and singing to her will do no harm, but I mustn't grow too close. After all, my love for Christine still burns more than any love for this child can.   
  
With this thought, Erik swooped over his small boat at the edge of the lake, and crossing the lake, decided to visit Nadir. Though the Persian hadn't asked him to call, Erik felt that Nadir needed the company, even if it was his.  
  
* * * 


	4. The Incident

Over the next week or so, Erik visited Miss DuBois no less than twice a day. Usually he came once at noon and then once late in the evening, though if Adelyn found herself in her room more frequently, then so did he visit accordingly. It was not long before Erik found himself infatuated with her childish happiness and her delight in his ethereal voice. She never addressed him as master, or sir, or any other title, but rather, she became fond of calling him "friend". Erik did not object, though he would not have minded so much telling her his name, had she inquired. Adelyn was under no illusions about who he was, and thus, there was no need for games about any "angel of music". Of course, there were certain details she was not aware of, but she was fully aware that he was a man. A strange man, perhaps, but a man nonetheless.  
  
There were several things Erik learned about Adelyn, too. She was born of a wealthy merchant family, and had been promised to Drew by her parents since she was twelve years old. He also learned that, despite her initial success in the Third Corridor, her voice was terribly strained and weak on any note beyond high G, and he also found that her voice, though surprisingly mature and trained for someone who had left such a soft life, was completely improperly placed. Almost every time they trained, he would have to stop in the middle of whatever aria she was singing to hound her to bring her sound out of the back of her throat and into the resonators in her face.   
  
During one particularly frustrating session together, Adelyn had already cracked the mirror by tossing her shoe across the room in anger before Erik finally agreed that they should at least stop before either of them became too heated.   
  
"I'll never get it right," sighed Adelyn sadly, staring at the crack the broken mirror made in her face.  
  
"You will, child," said Erik, smiling in spite of his irritation.   
  
There was a short silence when Erik suddenly spoke again. "How old are you, Miss DuBois?"  
  
"That's a most improper question, Friend," giggled Adelyn, her eyes glowing mischievously.   
  
"Then I apologize."  
  
"You needn't," she replied quickly. "I'm almost 16 now."  
  
Erik's breath stopped short in his chest. 16? Dear God! He had thought she was at least 21. True, she was very likely the most immature woman he had ever met, but her face, body, and voice were all too mature to belong to a 16-year-old. Never did he mean that she looked old-Dear God, the sweet thing was like a freshly budded rose-but she did carry herself with a slightly heavy, burdened air of an older woman. He had always thought that her childish antics were the silliness that even some similarly afflicted octogenarian women carried around with them.   
  
"Does it surprise you?" She laughed gaily. "People often tell me I look a bit older than is proper for my age. But I'm hardly a child, am I?"  
  
"Indeed," murmured Erik. "You are not more than a child."  
  
"I hope you don't look upon me less for it," she said, suddenly very serious. "My mother always thought I was unnaturally smart for a woman."  
  
"As if intelligence proved your maturity?" he sneered, unable to withhold his contempt for her little girl ideas.  
  
Adelyn blushed embarrassedly, but her voice was strong and indignant. "You, sir, are no gentleman to make a mockery of a young girl."  
  
He fell silent. She had never addressed him so formally.  
  
"Perhaps you should go," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I am very tired."  
  
Surely she was not crying? If the situation were not already so sensitive, Erik might have laughed. He gently hoisted himself higher up one of the rafters that overlooked her room and peered through one of the cracks in the plaster. Indeed, she looked prepared to weep. If she did cry, Erik would have no control over his body. He would want to crawl into her room and hold her close to his chest with his cold hands. This he could not have. Were he any other man, he could, but no…! He mustn't… He mustn't… His body quaked with desire. It was not so much sexual longing as it was the longing to wipe away someone's tears. No one had ever wiped away his tears, and no one had ever allowed him to close enough to touch his or her eyes. No one… except Christine.   
  
"I shall go," he choked desperately. He could not stay here another moment longer. If he did, he was afraid he would not be able to repress his own urges.  
  
"Wait!" screeched Adelyn unexpectedly. "Please, Friend, I meant no offense! I didn't mean- I am so sorry--" She burst into tears-not the obnoxious, attention-seeking tears she had shed for Drew, but true, tender, and heart wrenching tears.  
  
"Adelyn!" he gasped, forgetting his usual display of propriety. He clutched at the collar of his shirt, his heart aching with desire. "Why do you cry so?"  
  
"Oh!" she breathed, her chest heaving heavily. "My mother always says that-I am rather-hysterical-but I-I am so afraid that I may-"   
  
She fell silent at the sound of a loud bang! outside her door. For a few moments, the air hung heavy with suspense. But peace was not to prevail. The horrifyingly loud banging continued-bang, bang, bang, bang! Adelyn's tear-filled eyes quickly dried and widened with fear.   
  
"Who is it?" she cried loudly.  
  
"Open the door, Adelyn sweetheart, it is only your dear fiancé!"   
  
"Oh, God spare me, it's Drew. He's drunk as a dog," she moaned, her hand clasping over her little red mouth. She allowed her hand to drop from her mouth to her heart, which was beating like a bird's. In the manner which was customary of Miss Adelyn DuBois, she squared her shoulders and threw open the door. "Drew, you drunken thing! Go home!"  
  
"Is that any way to treat your lurvley future husband? Come here, darling, and give me a kiss," he laughed, his breath spreading over her face like a noxious gas.  
  
"Take your hands off me, you drunken fool!" she snarled, grabbing his wrists and tossing his arms back to his sides. "Now go back to bed."  
  
"I'll go to bed, all right." He grinned lazily. "And I shall go with you!"  
  
Adelyn backed away in horror. Surely he was not so drunk as that?   
  
"If you do not get out at this very moment, I shall scream!" exclaimed Adelyn shrilly.   
  
"Hush your sweet mouth and just kiss me," he slurred. He grabbed her round the waist and tossed her to the bed, stumbling after her.   
  
"Drew, please! You don't know what you're doing," she gasped, turning her face into the covers as he leaned down to kiss her lips.   
  
But he paid her no heed. He grabbed her roughly by the ears and pulled her face towards him, kissing her hard on the lips, then the neck, and then down to her bosom. Adelyn writhed under his touch like a trapped bird.   
  
"Drew! Please! Please!" she screamed, her shrieks becoming increasingly more elevated.  
  
"You'll wake the whole place, sweetheart," he growled, looking into her terrified, white face.   
  
"Oh! Please! Help! Help! Friend!"   
  
But "Friend" was several steps ahead of her. He had already crept through a small passageway into her room he had taken the care to build several weeks after her arrival at the opera house. Not since Christine had left had he felt such a murderous rage inside him. This man-this creature-had dared touch his protégé, his child, his Adelyn! She was quite everything-his pupil, his daughter, and his… dared he say it? His lover. Of course, he knew, she would never have him, but he would have her-He would have her, if only in his own dreams!  
  
Erik seemingly burst through the wall, not taking care to close the concealed door behind him. He was going to kill, and he was going to kill properly-and this time, he was going to kill someone who truly and deeply deserved it! Raising the Punjab lasson high over his head, he swung it swiftly over Drew's skull, pulling it tightly around the drunken man's neck. The other end, he secured it to Adelyn's bedpost, so that in a mere matter of seconds, Drew was hanging by his neck, his eyes bulging, his arms flailing vainly, and his breath rasping.  
  
"Oh!" screamed Adelyn, falling from the bed to the floor. "Oh! Dear God! Have mercy!" Her eyes traveled upwards and rested on the Phantom where he stood in all his murderous glory.   
  
"Worry not, my child," he said silkily, offering her his hand. "He will trouble you know more."  
  
"Who are you?" she screamed, her face suddenly flushing with blood. "Who are you? I do not know you!"  
  
"I am your friend! I am your teacher! Do you not know your own teacher?" He knelt to the floor, bending towards her concernedly.  
  
"No!" she shrieked. "No! My friend would never-My God! Cut him down! Cut him loose, damn you, cut him loose!"   
  
When he did not move, she got to her feet, and, with all the strength a woman in distress can muster, shoved him with all her might. Caught unawares, Erik went reeling backwards, smacking the back of his skull on her wardrobe. Adelyn, on the other hand, had climbed onto her dresser, and, pulling a pathetically small pair of sewing scissors from her drawer, began to saw at the rope which was slowly killing her fiancé.   
  
"Oh God!" she screamed as she worked. "Oh God, have mercy, have mercy!"  
  
Erik rose to his feet, too awestruck to be angry. Tears were rolling down her face as she worked, and yet she continued to pull at the rope, desperate to cut him down. The man did not deserve to live. But Adelyn did not deserve to be in such distress, either. With the agility of a cat, he withdrew a miraculously sharp knife and reached upwards with it, slicing at the Punjab lasso. Drew fell to the floor facedown and did not move.   
  
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Adelyn was breathing unnaturally heavy, but was calm. Or so she seemed, until she toppled over and fainted.   
  
"Adelyn!" murmured Erik, pressing his cold hand to her forehead. Even with his cold touch, he could tell that she was like ice.   
  
"Come, my child," he whispered, hoisting her into his arms like an infant. "You wanted to see me, and now you shall!" 


	5. In the Catacombs

Adelyn did not wake until late the next morning. For a moment, she thought she was still dreaming, but all too soon it became clear that this was a harsh reality. In one night, she had practically been ravished, prevented murder, and kidnapped. For a brief moment, Adelyn underwent vertigo. Surely this was not happening to her, Adelyn DuBois! She had never known anything except pampering and kind circumstances. And now, she was in the clutches of a madman… Of a murderer.  
  
A soft tapping came from outside her door. Adelyn sprang from the bed and cautiously approached the door.  
  
"Who's there?" she demanded hotly.  
  
"It is your friend," came a soft, silky voice from the other side of the wall.  
  
"Friend!" she spat. "Some friend! You almost killed my fiancé!"  
  
Erik shrank slightly from the door. "You are very ungrateful to a person who has preserved your sanctity."  
  
"You!" Adelyn soon forgot herself in anger. "You have, without a doubt, the most skewed perception of reality of any man I have ever met! You simply cannot go around killing people as if it were normal! For God's sake, you could have taken a vase and hit the man over the head. But to take a noose and to throw it around his neck! That is utter madness!"  
  
"Madness which saved you!" snarled Erik hotly.  
  
"You're a fool!" she snarled back. Her fear had long since been forgotten her anger. With a self-assured step towards the door, she threw it open with a bang. Upon seeing Erik, she gasped.  
  
He was not as she had remembered, a pale-faced man dressed in black. She realized what she had perceived just as an unusually pale face was, in fact, a white mask which stretched across the entire of his face. His eyes were a strange beaming yellow, and at the moment, they were flashing with anger. But most of all, she saw that mask-that terrible white mask-  
  
"Dear God," she gasped, clutching at her breast with her soft creamy hand.  
  
"Does it frighten you, dear?" he sneered, noticing where she stared. "Have you never been to a masquerade?"  
  
"Don't be silly," she replied shakily, drawing herself up and staring straight into his eyes. "I'm not afraid."  
  
When he did not speak, she said, "I'm starving. Have you nothing to eat?"  
  
He watched her carefully for any display of emotion. But whatever she was feeling, she did not allow her face to betray her. Without a word, he offered her his arm and the two walked to a wooden table, where he sat her with mock formality. Adelyn ate plentifully, though Erik ate nothing. Throughout the meal, neither of them spoke. When she had finished, Adelyn jumped from her seat and smiled uneasily.  
  
"Shall we train, then?" she asked, her hands clutching at the sides of her dress.  
  
"What do you mean?" Erik stared up at her darkly.  
  
"Why else am I here but to train? I can't imagine you have brought me down here just to eat breakfast," she replied sweetly, almost flirtatiously.   
  
"Of course, we shall train," he said coldly. "I have no other use for you."  
  
Erik swept himself from the room without a second glance at the blonde-haired child. Swallowing nervously, Adelyn followed him into a spacious room where a fine piano laid against the wall. Long fingers appeared from underneath Erik's cloak and they began to rapidly press themselves against the ivory keys of the piano. Always appreciative of a fine musician, Adelyn knelt at his side and watched as Erik bent over the keys. When the song had concluded, he seemed to come out of a stupor. He turned to the side and jumped, seemingly startled by seeing Adelyn kneeling by his side.  
  
"You play beautifully," she commented softly. "Who taught you?"  
  
He laughed bitterly and did not reply.  
  
"Will you not answer me?" Adelyn persisted. Never before had she been treated with such rudeness, and her childish mind thought it some sort of mistake. Perhaps the man was slightly hard of hearing, and, to cover the fact that he could not hear properly, had laughed as if she had told a joke.  
  
But Erik was hardly deaf. He bent towards her, his eyes glowing with irritation, and he hissed, "I am my only teacher."  
  
"Well then, I congratulate you! You have taught yourself well," she chirped brightly, pausing to run her fingers along the keys of the piano. "I played a little myself when I was a girl, but I don't really play much anymore. I had always wished to play as well as you just did. Then again, you're obviously quite talented, are you not? After all, I probably could barely play half as finely, and I have had sufficient training, while you-"  
  
"Silence!" Erik's cold, sharp voice rang through the room.   
  
Adelyn stared up at him, shocked that anyone could be so coarse. Erik stared back, almost challenging her, but Adelyn was defiant enough not to break her gaze.  
  
"That idle prattle profanes the music which I am trying to create," he whispered softly, his eyes still glowing.   
  
"Well, I'm ever so sorry, teacher," Adelyn snapped. "If I profane you so much, perhaps I should do better in leaving!"   
  
"Go then!" Erik roared, his hands gripping the keys so hard that the piano screamed dissonance tones. "Go, and bother me no further!"  
  
For one of the first times in her life, Adelyn was terrified. Picking up her skirts, she fled the room, sobbing. As soon as she had left, Erik continued playing as he had before. But it was no use. After only a few measures of music, he stopped playing to hold his head and weep. He knew that he was unnecessarily harsh on the girl-a girl who was probably frightened out of her wits and doing all that she could to act brave.   
  
"Christine…" he moaned, his lips touching the ivory of the piano.   
  
He had done this before. He had taken a sweet, innocent girl from the warmth of those who loved her, only to entrap her in his clammy cellars, hoping that somehow, she would love him. Yet, he found that he did not love Adelyn. Something like loneliness and lust had driven him to drag her beneath the surface of the opera. Had he believed that somehow, if he swept this violated girl away beneath his cape, she would somehow love him and caress away all the sadness of his past? Adelyn had been right. He was a fool.  
  
With that thought, he pushed himself away from the piano and once again approached Adelyn's door. He tentatively tapped several times, and, when receiving no reply, decided to speak, whether or not she was listening.  
  
"I apologize to you, Miss DuBois. My behavior has been inexcusable. I wish you would forgive me."  
  
The only reply was silence.  
  
Sighing, Erik moved away from the door, resigned. He would take her back to her fiancé that afternoon. If she did not emerge before then, he would take her the following morning. Either way, he would return her to her rightful place. He had no right to keep someone else's betrothed in his dwelling beneath the ground. The child obviously wanted nothing than to return. Though she had not pleaded with him as Christine had, he simply knew that it would have to be what her heart desired.  
  
Little did he know that as he moved away from the door, it opened the smallest of cracks, and two wide yellowish-blue eyes peered out from it. They watched his receding figure until he disappeared into the next room. Once he had disappeared, the owner of the eyes giggled and quickly closed the door.  
  
"My, he is like no other creature I have ever encountered before!" said Adelyn, laughing gaily. "He terrifies me! And yet, he is more exciting than any man I have ever met. Goodness, this is all very enthralling!"  
  
And with the delight of an amused child, she flopped upon the bed, reflecting upon all she had seen and heard.  
  
* * * 


	6. The Face

If Adelyn were anything like Erik expected, she would emerge from her room in only a few hours. However, night soon fell over the opera house in Paris, and she still had not shown her sweet face. He began to grow impatient, pacing the cracked tile in front of her door. But he did not hear her so much as cough for hours. When the night matured, and there was still no sign of her, he became disheartened and decided to retire for the night. Gently removing his mask, he laid it next to his pillow and climbed into the coffin which he used for a bed.  
  
About half an hour after Erik had fallen asleep, Adelyn gently turned the knob of her sturdy oak door and emerged from her room, breathless with excitement. She knew that he was no longer awake, for the incessant footsteps that had plagued her ears half the night finally disappeared into silence. Now, without him keeping such a watchful eye, she could have a bit of exploration around this crypt-like home.  
  
First, she investigated the drawing room, in which she found several musical scores, some of which she recognized, and some of which she did not. Also within this collection were detailed plans for magnificent works of architecture, though Adelyn, being ignorant to the art form, did not recognize them. After going through the shelves of books and papers, she sat down and stared at the keys of the piano. She longed to play, but knew that doing so would undoubtedly wake the strange man sleeping. Instead, she left the room to find other ventures.  
  
It was during this unfortunate time that she stumbled upon Erik's sleeping place. Her eyes widened as she entered, for the room was unnaturally dark. Any hope of light seemed to be swallowed within the cavernous bedroom. Being childlike and instinctively afraid of the dark, she longed to throw open the door so that light could trickle in from the lit room next door. However, something within her breast told her that this was a room to be left undisturbed-like a tomb of a great king. She eventually had to resort to feeling her away along the wall; that is, until she felt her skirt brush against something long and wooden on the floor.   
  
How curious, she thought, bending to feel what the object was. Is it a chest of some sort? It is very strange indeed.  
  
Her hands ran over the smooth wooden exterior, until they came to rest at what felt like a cushioned area within the box. It was then that she felt something strangely human-like underneath her hand. Indeed, it was almost as if she was running her hands over two cheeks, a nose, a forehead-but no, it was too lifeless to the touch to be a human. Adelyn grasped it gently between her fingers, and lifting it into the air, she tried to examine its shape, its texture; but it was so dark, so terribly dark-  
  
It was then that an idea dawned upon her.  
  
"It is the mask!" she whispered, a thrill of fear coursing through her veins. "It is the mask which he-"  
  
A cold, corpse-like hand grabbed her wrist before she could speak any further. The mask came cascading down her palm and fell pathetically to the floor at her feet. Adelyn wanted to scream, but no noise came out.   
  
"You fool," a voice hissed. "How dare you touch-how dare you see-You-You dared to-" The voice was trembling with rage.   
  
Finally, Adelyn did scream. Stunned, the hand loosened the grip on her wrist, and she took this opportunity to flee from the creature's touch. Trembling, she grabbed the door by the handle, and she flung it open violently. Bright, painful light streamed into the room like sunlight, dispersing all shadows-and men-- that would have preferred to stay in darkness.  
  
"God have mercy!" shrieked Adelyn, slamming backwards into the wall behind her with a loud thunk. "Have mercy on us all!"  
  
Standing in front of Adelaide was the irregularly shape of a skinny man, perhaps slightly ill looking, but man nonetheless. However, there was something that sat upon the man's shoulders that was completely inhuman-something beastly and Hellish. It was a white, twisted face, each feature wreaked with deformity. It looked horribly like a drawing out of a tale of a terrible demon, but unlike a drawing, it was moving and breathing and living. The creature began to move towards her with the swiftness of a cat. Adelyn screamed and closed her eyes, leaning the whole of her weight against the wall behind her, the strength in her legs having completely vanished.  
  
"Does it frighten you, poor child? Come now, this is little more than one of your silly games," growled Erik lowly, creeping along the ground like some horrible animal. "Think of me not as a man, but as some creature of folklore! Isn't that what you'd rather think? Is it not? Is it not, you foolish, silly viper?"  
  
Adelyn did not reply, but rather, breathed heavily, avoiding his eyes.  
  
"Look at me!" he screamed. "Look into the eyes of the man you owe your life! Look into the eyes of your captor! But you will never see it that way! You only see this, this face! Just like all others who have seen me! They only see this! Look at me! Look at your Don Juan!"  
  
At this point, Adelyn sank to the floor, deprived of all strength to stand any longer. The sight of Adelyn collapsing against the rug was too much for Erik to bear. Could he truly stir a woman to such fear and despair? Yes, he could! All for this wretchedness which was too much to bear!  
  
Taking his head in his hands, he pressed to the floor on his stomach, his body shaking with horrible sobs. Adelyn watched him weep, suddenly very weary. She quietly brushed the dust off her skirt and exited the room. Erik thought that she had truly abandoned him to his misery, and his torment worsened, his sobs ravaging his skeletal-like body. But it was not so. She had only left to find a basin, with which she had filled cool water. With a sense of fearful determination, she fell to his side. When he did not acknowledge her, she forcefully took him by the shoulders and pulled his head into her lap, taking the cold water and gently smoothing the tears away with a cloth.  
  
"Poor, sweet child," she murmured. She could not help but avoid his eyes, so terrible was the sight before her. But with all strength that was given her, she nursed the unfortunate creature in her lap. "You pitiful creature; you are a genius, but all for naught. Tell me your name, will you not?"  
  
"It is… It is Erik," he breathed, stunned by her display of compassion. "I am called Erik."  
  
"It is a lovely name," she commented kindly.  
  
"It is a cursed name," he replied savagely.  
  
Adelyn did not reply, but continued pressing the cold cloth to his face.  
  
"Why did you come back for me? I could have killed you." Erik dared to look at the face above him, but he found it was quite impassive.  
  
"You have brought me happiness, and spared me some unhappiness; it is only right that I repay you," she said softly, her voice shaking as if she were about to cry.  
  
A long silence lapsed between them. Even Adelyn's short, quick breaths were inaudible; all that could be heard was the steady ringing of the water falling fron the cloth into the basin like a lonesome melody. After several minutes, Adelyn spoke.  
  
"We can help you. My fiancé and I," she added, noticing Erik's startled glance. "Drew knows many excellent doctors right here in Paris. And we have the money, if you need-"  
  
"I don't need your charity," snapped Erik, pulling suddenly from her soft dress. "I need no one's pity, least of which yours and your moronic lover's."  
  
Adelyn stared at him in hurt disbelief. It was not often that she extended her charity, and to have it so roughly rejected was almost shocking. She stood in silence, no longer avoiding his eyes. The fear she had felt towards the haunted face was suddenly lost. She feared more that his soul was lost-that he no longer realized his fragile humanity. To be senseless to human happiness, whether past, present, or future, was in Adelyn's opinion, the darkest of fates.  
  
"I only wished to help you," she replied stonily, "but perhaps you are beyond my reach." She turned and prepared to exit the room when Erik emitted an inhuman howl.  
  
"Stay with me!" he begged, reaching vainly into the air with a bony hand. "Stay… Please… I implore you."  
  
"Are you not tired?" she asked, alarmed by this display.  
  
"I do not mean now," he said, his voice beginning to calm.  
  
"What do you mean, then?"  
  
"You wanted to help me. Then stay with me here," he whispered, tears leaking from his eyes. "Stay with me in my home. I swear I would never dishonor you. I only want you to stay with me-to fill the lonely hours-like a sister, perhaps, if you could only think of it that way-"  
  
Adelyn was horrified. "But… Erik… I am betrothed."  
  
"But you do not love him!" the creature cried. "Surely you do not love him! You cannot love him!"  
  
There was something about the sureness with which Erik spoke that turned Adelyn's stomach. She turned on him, shaking with rage, and practically screamed her reply.  
  
"Of course I love him! I am marrying him, am I not?"  
  
Erik did not reply right away, which greatly annoyed Adelyn. How could he so calmly react to her fits of anger? Everyone else she had known either attempted to soothe her fury, or, if particularly tempestuous themselves, they fed her bitterness in return. But he simply bowed his deformed head and spoke as softly as a child.  
  
"Tomorrow, we will return to the surface," he said solemnly. "I am sorry for having detained you for so long."  
  
With those words having been spoken, he gently but swiftly replaced the mask across his face.  
  
* * * 


End file.
